


Spectrum

by supercalifragili



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2513771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercalifragili/pseuds/supercalifragili
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His mum always told him colours were life, she always smiled and divulged secrets about how nice it is to see oranges and yellows and the entire spectrum of colours. Zayn's world is in a gradient of white to black, still. But, he hears his soulmate in cold nights, under the comforting warmth of his blankets, and he knows that he will see colours soon too"</p><p>Or, Zayn lives in a colourless world until he meets Liam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectrum

**Author's Note:**

> It’s from the first [prompt](http://drummajorpayne.tumblr.com/post/100447844708/thegeminisage-you-know-what-the-best-thing-ever) off this list.  
> Harry/Louis and Niall/Bressie are hinted, idk if I even had to tag them but, just in case, I'm sorry.

“What’s the definition of colour, Mr. Malik?” Professor Lunen’s inquires as he fixes his tie and smooths it over his white chemise, the boredom in his voice making Zayn stand up, laying his hands on the desk and sigh

“Colour is the property possessed by an object of producing different sensations on the eye as a result of the way the object reflects or emits light. Or, one, or any mixture, of the constituents into which light can be separated into a spectrum or rainbow, sometimes including black and white.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malik” he sits back down, slumping in the chair.

Louis by his side mouths _did you memorize it?_ His eyes wide and incredulous as the professor writes “Energy and Colour” on the blackboard, the chalk hissing and knocking on the board as he writes.

Zayn nods at Louis with a smirk, turns to the window, his neck straining a little as he takes a look outside.

Grey and black and white, over and over again, masking everything, from the sky high above his head to the soil beneath his feet. Colour is essential, colour is what the world is about; the make ups of any given object, any material, and any organism are made of colour, reflectable light. Zayn’s only question is _why can’t I see colour yet?_.

He knows about the answer, the usual, _you didn't meet your soulmate yet._

He’s been trying to understand the soulmate-colour cause and effect casuality, didn’t really work but he tried. His mum told him about what she sees, how beautiful it is to know about colours and such, how beautiful it is to witness the brightness of a green and darkness of a blue; _there are so many shades_ his dad would tell him with a smile on his face and slinging an arm on his mother’s shoulders he'd kiss her on the temple with some kind of peace Zayn can't still find. What does that mean, what are shades?

He learned in boring and repetitive classes, the same monotone voice of any instructor he had the chance to listen to in sleepy mornings between sips of coffee and juice boxes, of conjugated systems of electrons that work together in multiple conjugated bonds and absorb energies of light. The energy of visible light that is at his highest peak with a violet and low energy with a red. He knows about the reflected portion of light that the eye catches, he studied all of those things, but what’s so important about them if he can’t see any product of it?

“Hey mate, everything alright?” Louis’s voice startles him, he always sits in the empty art's room of their university when lecture ends and everybody rushes hurriedly out of the door, a blend of noise fading as the clock on the wall ticks forward. Empty canvases, oils and “colours” sit on the left corner of the room, a blackboard with scribbles and doodles on it.

“Not now, Louis” Zayn whispers seated on the chair, he’s trying to mix grey and black and white together, trying to see if colour will appear. He knows it won’t, but he still tries.

“What about now, though?” Louis insists cheerfully, prodding his thigh and Zayn, sighing heavily, turns to him, white and grey and black in gradients and scales of a dull spectrum in front of him. He sets the brushes down and sighs again, how can life be this gloomy?

“Yes, Louis”

“So, I have a proposition for you” Louis starts, the creaking noise of the chair piercing Zayn's ears as Louis leans on it with his leg

“Do you even know what proposition means?”

“Yes Zayn, what the fuck, we are in English together, you dick,” Louis grouches, his brow wavering amusingly on the planes of his smooth skin. Zayn tried to draw him one time, he really couldn’t because he was being a douche and moving every second. He hopes his soulmate won’t be this restless.

“Just making sure” Zayn chuckles, looking in Louis’s eyes, a lighter grey and the profundity of an iris inside.

"You are staring again, not that I care cause you're really beautiful, you bastard, but I'm not the one, so my proposition is would you replace me for next Thursday? I’ll obviously give you the amount paid for that day and everything”

“And?” Zayn asks, Louis really never asks for help or replacement at work. Not that they do much there, nowadays nobody really visits bookstores, e-pubs and kindles are the future… Or so it seems.

“And what? I told you everything” Louis offers him a biscuit from his usual packet of digestives and biting on his single piece, nibbling it slowly.

“Where are you going to be that day?” He stares down at his palette, not really recognizing anything apart from the usual trio, studies said dogs see in black and white so his eyesight is basically compared to the one of a dog. He sighs, he loves dogs anyway.

“Kind of an anniversary thing?” Louis's voice is quite incredulous in response to the question and Zayn should have known: between the kisses, almost-fucking-on-his-couch, chocolates served between their lips, he should have known, he didn’t know it would have been this early, three years.

“Oh, is it three years already?”

“Time flies yeah?” Louis sits on the stool, knocking another chair on the ground, the clanking noise screeching in his ears making Zayn wince, wasn’t Harry the clumsy one?

“I remember just yesterday when-“Louis starts propping himself neatly on the chair, his hands between his legs as he sits and continues on and on about the same story.

Zayn tunes it out, it’s not that he doesn’t care, but he feels a little bit envious when Louis starts his novel about how he fell in love with Harry and how his whole world was grey and boring and whatever and then it turned into this spiral of colours Zayn never saw, or will probably never see.

He doesn’t care about whichever soulmate argument everybody goes on debating, he wants to see colours, just colours. He doesn’t really like the thought of seeing colours just because of a soulmate, he believes in fate and what-yes and whatnot, but the void in his heart increases every day and it’s lurching, it’s hurting.

“Hey Zayn” Louis’s hands wave in front of him and Zayn startles, laying a hand on his chest

“What?”

“Will you do me this favour?” He asks again, expectancy clear in his eyes and Zayn just nods, listening to Louis’s sigh of relief as he slumps on the stool again

“Yeah, no problem mate, I don’t have anything to do anyway”

“Thank you! Good friend, aren’t you?” He pats him on his back brashly, his tone jolly and excited

“Fuck off Louis” he waves lightly

“Love you, Zayn!”

Louis waves goodbye, walking towards the door of the art room and Zayn returns to his brushes and his “painting". He loves painting, he loves doodling, he loves sketching and imagining the intensity of his swipes on canvas or the scratch of pencils on whichever paper he draws on.

It’s discouraging at times. What colour is he even using? What mixture of shades is he creating under the unwavering gaze of his eyes? 

Niall tells him about colours when he comes by after classes and Zayn sits on the stool that gives to the windows of the art room, he sits on the chair beside him and picks the strings of his guitar while Zayn pays close attention to what the sound is making him feel.

Niall told him one day that the sun he was drawing was red, he described red as the love of parents to sons and daughters, but even more. Niall told him Bressie made him feel that way, but _more_ , he made him feel red and sense blue; Niall said blue was like tranquillity and told him that each colour had different shades, Zayn frowned holding his brush as he swiped a murmured “orange” by Niall.

Niall always made him feel like maybe he was seeing something.

 

Zayn still paints, sun hidden by clouds and making everything seem even darker, almost a reflection of his state of mind. He sets down the palette and he walks steadily to the sink to wash the brush, he wishes he could see what mixes could be flowing from its bristles.

Zayn’s never had to worry about anything, apart from this, his mum never told him about colours until his art professor talked about oranges and blues and yellows. He asked his dad that night, and he said with a cup of tea in his hands not to worry, because _you’ll meet your soulmate, and it’ll be great_.

Louis met Harry five months after his little talk with his dad; Louis called him screaming “I met him! I met him” the giddiness in his voice seeping through the line. Zayn had to calm him down to let him explain, _make some tea, calm down and tell me._ He sounded so happy and accomplished there in that moment.

Louis said “The world is so beautiful in colours” and Zayn didn’t understand for a second, “Colours?” he asked and Louis screamed “Yes, colours! He’s so beautiful Zayn, he’s so fucking clumsy, and I shall keep him safe” he decided gleefully.

Then, Zayn was seventeen and he didn’t really care, or he made as if he didn’t care. Louis’s smile when Harry would come around after classes and the little touches between each other were something else to witness, everything screaming _love_ in his ears.

Zayn still didn’t care, but he would have given his most precious comic away to see the “green” of Harry’s eyes and the “brown” of his curly hair. Zayn would have given everything to make his soulmate appear just there and in a whim, bring colour to him too.

It didn’t happen, he didn’t give anything away, and probably that was why.

His mum told him “Don’t rush it, it’ll be beautiful” and Zayn believed her; patience is a virtue of the strong, he knows, but how much patience is a virtue? How much virtue makes a person strong?

 

Zayn spots Niall by the parking lot almost emptied of cars, university papers crumpled on the asphalt. Niall is waiting for him with the keys in his hands and a smile plastered on his face, he arranges his beanie quickly before putting his phone away.

“Hey, bro, what are you happy about?” Zayn asks, the whiteness of his smile and the happiness of the lines of his face evident.

“Nah, nothing, good day?”

“Yeah mate, good day”

“Wanna go buy some take away, I’m starving and you can’t cook for shit” Niall taps the hood of his car wincing when he hits it hard, the knuckles of his hands are white and frigid when Niall holds Zayn's for a moment.

“As if you can”

“At least I didn’t manage to burn scrambled eggs even by being in reaching sight”

Zayn slaps light-heartedly on his arm, Niall sparking his little car, dented and literally a mess.

Niall still loves it –his car- and Zayn loves it too, deep down. It’s the first car Niall bought by himself, two years ago, when he met Bressie in the rugby team he was training in. Zayn remembers the year because Niall almost broke the door of their apartment they were living in, his cheeks were splashed with pink and he looked so happy.

“I met Bressie” Niall had said, and Zayn for some unknown reason knew Niall could see what he didn’t see yet. Niall was cheerful and happy while complaining about the horrible colour of their walls, touching every reachable object and looking at it like it was something new “We have to paint this shit, looks horrible Zayn” he said eating a bowl of seafood soup.

They still didn’t change the walls, Zayn can’t see colours yet.

Zayn calls the Thai restaurant at ten minutes away from their campus. He orders basil fried rice for Niall and a pineapple one for himself, and asking for a couple of spring rolls, Niall screaming “I want the sweet and sour sauce and duck sauce, Ree!” and Isaree on the line laughing quietly, she knows them for so long.

Maybe, Zayn admits, they go there almost every day, that’s how desperate they are. Thankfully his job at the local bookstore and Niall’s rugby lessons help a lot with rent and bills.

It’s cold outside, wind cutting through air and whizzing in his coat for some sort of devilish plot by obscure powers to give him a cold; Niall in the car with the heater on, rubs his pale hands quickly when Zayn rushes in holding two bags and a couple more of sauces _for Niall_ , Isaree said with a small paper bag in her hands.

“Fucking hell, it’s only October and it’s this cold” Niall blows air on his red fingertips, his voice annoyed

“England Niall, I told you to buy the mittens” he huffs laying the bags of hot food on his lap

“Forgot”

“Freeze your hands off then” Zayn grumbles as he takes out of his coat pockets a pair of gloves and offers them to him

“Thanks, mate!” Niall winks funnily before starting the car.

 

The rumble of the car quietens the soft music playing on the radio, some poppy tune Zayn heard over and over again in freezing afternoons with hot cups of chocolate and a cigarette between his fingertips.

“The last game of the tournament is next week on Saturday before break starts…” Niall says looking in front of him, eyes fixed on the road as he drives steadily.

Niall always tries to invite him for some good luck charm kind of reason. Even though his team has never actually lost a game till now, Zayn keeps up with their games from afar. He still doesn’t really go to freeze his bollocks off in the cold by the benches of the field, he’d be worried to death with the way players tackle each other and the scrums sending people lying on the grass. They laugh anyway, which to Zayn is quite baffling.

“I told you I don’t really like rugby, Niall” he sighs, the scent of their dinner filling the car and his stomach growls making him frown, is there a rule to not eat dinner in a car while a friend, as much hungry, is driving?

“What about if we win and we meet at the local bar by the art gallery?”

“Niall… You always win” _Come_ a voice insists in his head. Itching, he covers the shell of his ear and the voice fades, still, the echo of it resounds in his head

“Come on Zayn, last game of the season…” Niall pleads jutting his bottom lip out, voice wavering a little and Zayn is too gone to say no at this point, what could the last celebration of the last game of the season do anyway?

“Okay, okay”

Niall hisses a _yes_ and Zayn rolls his eyes and asks himself what did he throw himself into.

As Zayn steps inside their little conventional apartment he notices everything’s cleaned up. He shrugs his coat and takes his shoes off by the entrance whistling surprised, the scent of that new freshener making the air of their place feel new and unpolluted. He sets the boxes of take away on the coffee table and looks around the furniture, rearranged around the room, the DVDs by the TV neatly disposed and the controllers of their Xbox arranged on the sides of the television.

“Did _you_ clean?” Zayn asks turning to Niall and looking at him incredulously as he smiles

“Yeah, kind of trashy in here” he takes his beanie off, a darker shade of grey forming on his cheeks.

“Wow, mate, never thought you had it in you”

“Stop spitting bollocks Zayn, I clean better than you” Niall chucks his jacket on the coat stand and switches on the heater.

They quickly wash their hands and change before settling in front of the TV and resume on their episodes of Roswell, Niall still obsessing over the TV show.

They make small conversation while they eat, Niall talking about the kids being _so fucking cute_ when they can’t catch the ball and they frown pathetically, tears brimming in their eyes. Zayn laughs so hard because _Bressie is so f’cking horrible at passing the ball to kids I tell ya, he was going to send this kid to the hospital with a meek pass._

Somehow he hopes his soulmate will make him laugh as much or even more.

 

“How long will it take me to see you?” wakes him up, it’s so loud and clear in the silence of the night, a frustrated groan piercing in his ears.

Zayn doesn’t sleep enough, or good for that matter. He hears a particular voice when he dozes, he sees lights and the frame of a body he can’t recognize, the same recurring dream from over a couple of months. The voice is persistent sometimes and Zayn’s heart lurches in sadness, a cry for help or love roaring in his ears.

His mum told him _when the time comes your soulmate’s voice will be clearer and clearer_. Zayn heard whispers at first, a fleeting _Where are you?_ Now, it’s much more, now it’s as if his soulmate’s thoughts are blaring in his head.

He still goes on, he wakes up on Saturday with Niall draped all over him on his bed, their night ending in cuddles caused by the cold and their heater that sometimes decides it’s not going to work. He ruffles his hair kindly and imagines what blond and brunette would look like on Niall’s hair. He kisses his forehead while Niall grumbles about the time

“It’s ten, sleep”

“I will, why do you have to work on Saturdays for fuck’s sake” he complains “Who’s going to be my pillow?”

“Bressie, I’m going” he concludes, “I’ll be back by eleven, gonna work in the gallery tonight”

Niall waves a middle finger and Zayn hits him with a pillow in retaliation chuckling when it strikes him in the face.

“Wanker” Niall shouts as he closes the door of the room and goes to the kitchen to grab a juice box and a packet of biscuits from the pantry almost empty.

 

The local bookstore fifteen minutes away from his place has Zayn stopping by the train station, and it takes him five minutes by walking to get there. He greets the ticket examiner lady by the stand and offers her his ticket

“Go!” she says with a wave without even looking at the ticket and Zayn kisses her cold cheeks quickly before running to the train and getting inside in time “Thank you Mary!” he shouts before the door closes in front of him

His walk to the bookstore is relatively quiet even though it’s full of shops, he’s been working there since he started university and it’s been good. Not many people come in but the ones that do, stay and sometimes sit by the worn out fauteuils in front of the windows and read till they rub their eyes and wave a goodbye before going out.

Zayn reads too when he stops listening to the voice in his head.

Zayn swipes whistling tunes in the air and he rearranges books that were displaced. He continues reading “Metamorphoses” of Ovid and he listens to music as time goes on. Books are his only consolation since he knows that at least their print is in black and white; he reads pages and pages until his eyes itch and words scatter randomly in his head, trying to give form to something more, something he can't still find within himself. Louis comes in a bit later holding a paper bag of hot pastries Harry gives him when Louis comes by in the morning.

“Harry says it’s for you, I ate half since I know you won’t be able to finish them” Louis sets the bag down in front of him and sits by the counter for a while telling him about his plans for Thursday evening, the day of their anniversary.

Louis makes him want to have a soulmate to love for the rest of his life. It’s so contradicting, he wants to love somebody and he wants to see colours, but he doesn’t want that to be terribly cliché, even though he knows it will.

“I’ll have to get them myself from Monday, Harriet will surely give me some” he says taking a bite of the croissant filled with crème

“Harriet will obviously do that, she’s gone for you” Louis deadpans as he goes through the first encyclopaedic aisle and talks about how Harriet always asks of him and when he’ll come and visit.

“I will, surely”

Louis doesn’t talk to him much about colours, he talks about Harry yes, but not about colours. He told him talking about it makes people that don’t see colour feel even worse about their “impairment”, and Zayn is glad about that. Louis makes him want to have a soulmate, not seeing colours.

A couple of kids come in in the span of his working hours asking about comics to which Zayn directs them to. He has a small talk about _whose your favourite hero?_ The voice in his head resounding with a loud _I’m Batman_ that has Zayn laughing till his stomach hurts, the kids laugh with him too holding their stomach. He’s a goofy soulmate, he determines.

“What about Tekken right here? Or Lone Wolf?” he asks flipping through the comic section as he passes the cartoon around

“Thank you!” a boy with light eyes says holding the comics to his chest, his cheeks puffing a little when he smiles

“Tell me how it is when you pass by okay?” He ruffles his hair kindly

“Yes, sir!”

Louis helps the boy out with the comics and they wave an excited goodbye as the ringing of the doorbell sets off when the door opens, cold air whizzing in.

“You can hear him clearly now” Louis says on their break

“Yeah, I like his voice” Zayn chews on his thumb quietly, the sting somewhat soothing in the mess of his mind. His voice is really nice, words quick and lighthearted tone.

He sings sometimes, Zayn can hear him loudly when he smokes by the door of the bookstore during his breaks, flicking his cigarette butt by the dumpster after brushing it forcibly on the dark brick wall. He sings old tunes and some new ones, somewhat jazzy and classic in the drag of his voice, each vocal clear and perfectly executed. Zayn sings sometimes too, and he’s glad he can imagine their voices and how they mix together in his mind.

“It’s a he then! God, I want to see him, bet he’s snobbish like you- no, I really hope he’s not, I’d have to kill you both” he teases around a spoonful of yogurt.

Zayn smiles hoping he’ll be coming soon.

 

Zayn runs to the gallery, meeting Jade by the entrance already dressed in her suit with dinner in her hands and stomping her booted heels on the sidewalk

“Assalamu alaikum” they say quickly before she swats him on the head, her hit knocking Zayn right off for a second, he rubs at the sting of pain on his head and frowns

“You’re late! Come on come on! Your change is by the private staff room” she says handing him dinner and he thanks her before rushing inside

“By the left!” she says as he’s going in the opposite way

The gallery didn’t even start yet, but there are some people in it already, isn’t anybody against the norm of being in time?

He gets inside the room and wipes himself clean, he chews down couple of bites of falafel Jade bought for him and dresses in a simple suit. He looks at the watch breathing in heavily, _twenty minutes_ , he brushes his teeth and by the time he’s done Harry’s by the door already set.

“Ready?” he nods, and Harry smiles, fixing his hair a little “Make everybody swoon” he winks and Zayn rolls his eyes.

Serving cocktails during a show art gallery is great, he gets paid for carrying a tray of drinks in fancy glasses and being complimented for it, some people usually ask him if he can pose for them, but he always shakes his head. His suit itches sometimes when he distinguishes which people see colours and which do not. It’s fairly easy, there’s the usual tight smile on their faces when they listen to the line of colours spilling from other’s mouths. Zayn just found a chance to hear more about what people paint and what they see or feel when they look at a framed work and stay there for minutes and minutes. Zayn wonders what they really see.

Harry worked there all along during weekends and he told Zayn he met Louis just by the entrance, practically falling onto him.

Zayn knows his life could be much better if he knew what colours were, he doesn’t compare it to blindness anyway, blindness is something he probably wouldn’t be able to stand; still, the emptiness that settles within his being is disturbing.

He’s never been so weary of the same gradient of colours, if those can be defined as colours anyway. When he was little he didn’t know about such things, about the fact that a certain point in one’s life, once they meet the right one, their soulmate, everything would feel complete.

His mum always told him colours were life, she always smiled and divulged secrets about how nice it is to see oranges and yellows and the entire spectrum of colours. Zayn's world is in a gradient of white to black, still. But, he hears his soulmate in cold nights, under the comforting warmth of his blankets, and he knows that he will see colours soon too.

Zayn runs through the cold wind the on Monday too, Jade huffing irritated when she spots him outside. Harry and Jade by his side as they go up and down the area and make small conversation with guests as they stop. Jade still hasn’t met her soulmate, but she goes out with Sam sometimes, he picks her up when their time at the gallery is over.

They look happy and Zayn thinks he could do that, be happy with somebody, but in reality he knows he can’t, because what would he do with the feeling of emptiness in his soul? Jade tells him he’s a good guy, Sam, he’s kind and funny and the only thing Zayn wants to ask her is “Do you think he’ll stay if he meets his right one?”

Zayn looks at how Sam slings his arm on her middle and kisses her closing his eyes and he wishes it’d be of a work of nature if Jade were to see colour too.

He tried going out with people but the brushes of skin and the warmth of their lips weren’t enough, some kind of itch formed and he welcomed the clouds of smoke swirling from his mouth when the sky was dark in his eyes.

Lights of stores flicker irregularly, glow illuminating the sidewalk as he paces back home and feathers his scarf a couple of times to prevent the cold wind to whizzing inside his clothes.

He walks steadily in the quiet, his boots clattering on the asphalt as keeping his head down and his hands in his pockets. He sighs thankfully when he finds seat on the train back home witnessing the sight of a little boy sleeping on his father’s lap that pulls a smile on his lips as the rumble of the train carries him home, he imagines that is what the colour blue is, tranquillity.

When he opens the door Niall is sleeping on the couch, his face illuminated by the TV as he breathes steadily. Zayn beams and goes for a shower and cleans a little, he takes some cups up from the table and he helps Niall on his bed, his body heavy on his shoulders.

“How did it go?” Niall murmurs voice thick in sleep and Zayn thumbs away a message to Jade, informing her he’s home.

“Good Niall, good.” He smooths the wrinkles of his forehead and flicks his chin jokingly

“Evil being, how’s your head?”

“His voice is really beautiful” Niall smiles sleepily and stretches his hands to kiss him on the forehead

“I’m glad” he says before returning to sleep, and Zayn takes his pants off before getting inside the covers with him listening to this voice sing tunes he finds familiar.

 

When Zayn wakes up in the morning Niall is not there, he hurries around the place for his books and a notebook to write notes on, he brushes his teeth quickly and dresses eyeing the gloominess of the sky, the grey overbearing the whiteness of the clouds. Lectures go by at a snail’s pace, Latin leaving him with an _omnem operam dedi ut me multitudini educerem et aliqua dote notabilem facerem_ he won’t even try to understand, because the last part of the prose ends in _quid aliud quam telis me opposui et malevolentiae quod moderet ostendi?_ And his soulmate is not there yet, he’s not envious, or so he hopes. He closes the book and follows aside Louis the pathway to their English class.

“Do you want to know about my plans?”

“Not really, it’ll be like last year when you told me and you blurted out the same thing to Harry as soon as he kissed you by your dorm, I know you”

Louis chuckles recounting the event and Zayn looks at him while he snores through English.

By the time he makes it to the field behind the campus after classes, Niall is already running laps around with a dozen of kids following him in the cold, some motto repeating in the fog of the day by shrills of the little ones. They wave at him, a stream of ZaynZaynZayn! as he waves back.

He listens as Niall calls a ruck and the kids muddle kindly against each other giggling and high-fiving each other. Bressie comes by much later and yeah, he passes the ball almost hitting the kids on the head and Niall falls on the grass laughing when Jacob cries loudly and Bressie shushes him with apologies. He watches as Niall and Bressie wait for the parents of the kids to come and pick them up, how they look at each other, how they whisper and share small kisses in the cold, how their hands can't stop touching each other, as if they're feeding off their own love. It's mesmerizing how nice they look, how perfect they seem and are.

"Would you pick the coat for me?" Niall asks Bressie poiting to the coat laying on the grass and Bressie smiles a little, he sets his beanie on Niall's hair and grabs the coat, jogging back.

Zayn looks at Niall and the way he watches him, a bashful smile on his lips, his eyes trained on Bressie and how he kisses his lips

"Lazy, that's what you are" Bressie says fixing the collar on Niall's neck, his gloved hands working along the line of the coat and fixing it on the front too. Niall smiles smugly at him while Bressie does so.

"I know" he says and Zayn could almost throw up at how lovely they are.

 

Zayn’s heart thrums friday morning when he shuts off Niall’s alarm for the seventh time and garbs himself in comfy sweatpants and an onion of shirts and jumpers that warm his skin after some moments.

It’s incessant and distracting, the voice is loud and resonating in his mind as he reads passages from his English lecture and jots an outline for his essay on foreign politics. It’s so insistent he can’t do anything else after, his feet tingling and his hands shaking as he makes his way out of the library.

“It’s coming” his dad tells him by the phone while he takes the bus home, “You’ll be happy, don’t worry son” he says reassuringly and Zayn presses his hands to his chest cursing at the loudness of the thumps in his head.

He doesn’t do anything all day listening to the beats of his heart inside his chest, he goes home skipping all the other classes and lays on the soft carpet of the living room eyeing at the ceiling above him and squeezing the quills of it between his fingertips, reminding himself he’s still there.

When he closes his eyes it’s even worse as the grainy and deep voice assaults him, he’s almost feverish with it.

Niall is out since he’s preparing for the game and Zayn doesn’t want to worry him by calling. He goes through the minor shakes that invade his body by himself, he tries to sleep through the night but it’s hard, lights flickering continuously in his eyes.

Saturday morning he calls Niall, his voice reduced to whispers.

“It’s so loud Niall” he says bundled in covers and when he hears a door clicking shut in the background Niall says “I’m on the way”.

When he sees him by the door it looks like he ran at least ten kilometres, his breath heavy as he closes and locks the door and heads straight for the bathroom.

“You need a good shower, a hot one and food, it almost hurts sometimes” he tells him worriedly and helps him to the restroom, strips him of his clothes and he says firmly “Don’t close your eyes, not even for a second”

“Okay” Zayn nods, his teeth chattering as he sits in the hot water of the bathtub

“When I had it, I stayed home for a day, why did you go to class, you’re so careless” he brushes a hand through his hair

“You’ll see him!” he shrieks almost slipping on the bathroom pavement

“I wouldn’t want you in the hospital before the game Niall” Zayn giggles, the sting in his head increasing

“You’d have to play then!”

 _You’re so loud_ he hears as his breath catches up to his lungs, his eyes shutting tightly.

“Fuck!” he hisses, shocks of pain flashing in his body, almost as if he can feel this voice’s hurt too “Is it going to stop?” he asks, pressing the palm of his hands to his chest

“Yeah, some hours before you meet him I guess, with some others it just continues even after. One of my mates is going through the same thing…” Niall explains “Yours is strong, I never saw any of this before” he continues as he helps him out of the bath and into a soft and warm towel “It’ll help”

Niall calls Harry and Louis that come in after half an hour, all frigid and worried in their thick coats, with cups of tea and Zayn’s favourite lemon cake.

“Harriet told me to give it to you” Harry says “Can he eat?” he eyes Niall for help

“I think so, by any chance he’ll vomit it out” Louis says as he grabs some blankets

“Niall, you go, we’ll stay with him, he’ll be fine” Louis stops Niall from going up and down

“You have an important game today, we’ll text you if anything happens” he hold his by his shoulders and Zayn laughs, an explosion of butterflies in his belly floating inside insistently.

“You fool! We’re taking care of you and you’re laughing” Louis points accusingly at him

“You look like you’re going to pass out” Zayn chuckles as Harry pets his hair

“Think he’s going berserk, that's what happened to my mum when she met dad” Harry murmurs quietly as Zayn giggles again like he can't stop himself

“I’ll be fine Niall, I promise” he reassures Niall, the latter nodding and going to grab his jersey and bag

“He’ll come” it’s the last thing he says to him before leaving, his eyes happy and excited as he waves a goodbye.

Zayn falls asleep after eating a slice of the lemon cake and drinking some tea, under the supervision of Louis and Harry, the shaky _you’re so near, you’re so near_ echoing in his head. He opens his eyes feeling resolutely better, apart from the sight of Harry half naked with Louis on top of him

“You two are literally sickening” he scrunches up his nose

‘Oh don’t worry, you’ll get there, feeling better?’ Harry asks smirking as Louis stirs awake on top of him

“Much better, we can still make it for the bar right? Did they win?” he looks at the time, the game must have been over twenty minutes ago

“Obviously, let me send a text to Niall, telling him we’re coming”

“Hey Zayn” Louis rubs at his eyes, his tussled hair sticking everywhere “Good?”

“Great” Zayn answers, it’s as if he didn’t sleep this well in ages. He could still hear voices but there was some sort of serenity instilled in there, he’s never felt this peaceful and this rested in just seven hours sleep.

“Let’s dress up and go then”.

 

The party, was going to be huge since their school rugby team won the winter tournament, but Zayn didn’t think it’d be _this_ huge, people coming in and out of the local bar with beer mugs in their hands, clanking noises and loud laughter as he finds his way inside; Harry and Louis are already in after he had his first smoke scratching away the tremor and excitement of his body, leaning on the brick wall of the bar.

He spots Niall by the counters still dressed in his jersey chugging down a mug of beer, hair sweaty and a smile so big it could illuminate the whole world, Bressie by his side with a hand on his shoulder and a proud look on his face when Niall looks back at him. Zayn wishes he could have gone to the games for a moment and seeing Niall this happy after a good win.

“Hey Zayn!” Bressie tackles him an a hug, lifting him off the ground, Zayn’s heart jumping in his throat

“We won you wanker! We won the fucking winter tournament!” Niall screams above the noise, other jocks chatting loudly around him and howling in synch.

“You should be drinking too!” he says as if it’s a revelation and slams the mug on Zayn’s palm, his beer spilling out and on Zayn’s jacket.

“What the bloody hell did you put in this?”

Encouraging him to drink it all in one swig, Zayn shaking his head does, the sting of alcohol burning in his throat.

“Just a bit of vodka, a u-boot imagine that, you-boot!” Niall laughs shrugging carelessly, he takes the jug away from him shouting for another drink at the barman that nods in his direction.

“Where are Harry and Louis?” Zayn asks wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his throat scratchy and dry

“Already in the loo! Probably fucking in there!” Niall giggles

“You’re a mad man!”

 

Zayn stays for a long time, occasionally spotting Harry with Louis all over each other dancing awkwardly to no music at all and he’s so fucking happy, even if the horrible smell in the bar, sweat and beer probably all over his jacket. His ears resounding of _I will see you, I will see you_ ; the only question in his mind being _Will I see you today?_

He never felt this happy in his whole life and his heart is beating quickly and threatening to burst out of his chest, lights are flickering in his eyes like fireflies, a pleasant buzz following the humming voice in his head. He decides on catching a breath outside and smoke a cigarette when he crashes into a body among the mass of people by the door of the bar, his packet of Marlboro slipping off his sweaty hands and falling on the floor, clatter imperceptible.

Zayn sees something when he opens his eyes and looks at the floor for a fleeting moment, some kind of haze blurring his vision; other colours, other things, he doesn’t know about the names but they are so many, he can see the wood, it’s different shades and people’s shoe colour and _fuck,_

“Hey” hands, wide and hot hands touch his waist for a second before carrying up on his shoulders, the drag of his skin on Zayn’s clothes making him shudder. His hands stop on this figure and he’d go about saying something like _look where you’re going_ , but it’s like a shock waves through him at contact, electric currents crashing into him.

“Fuck, you are-” he lifts his eyes, an explosion of darks and lights. Can just eyes be this kind and rich in colour? Did the stars shine like that above him every night?

“God, I- you” he stammers stunned going to touch his face

The boy laughs, but Zayn is feeling dizzy, everything assailing his senses. He can’t think, he can’t… He’s seeing colours, the ones his mum and Louis and Harry and Niall were always talking about, the ones that made Louis smile like he won a thousand battles and Niall jump and feel satisfied and accomplished.

He’s seeing those ones.

“Can you see it? See all of this?” he asks in incredulous and his voice betrays him, his hands trembling a little as they stop on the boy’s jersey

“Yeah- It’s not a dream right? God, I hope this is not a dream” the boy stutters still holding him by his shoulders and Zayn can’t resists somehow, it feels as if his body is trying to get more and more and it doesn't feel enough, the more he stares the more he wants to touch and feel. He stands on his feet- tip toeing a little- and kisses those lips, rockets of light twinkling in his eyes, almost iridescent. His lips are soft and a little bit chapped, but they’re wonderful, they’re the kind of lips Louis would talk about when he’d mention Harry, he’d tell him about pinks and reds and probably those are what he sees when he sets back on the ball of his feet planted on the ground.

“I found you” it’s the only thing the boy with his caring eyes whispers chuffed, his dark hair with some sort of cute side part under his shabby beanie raising in the wind. He smells so fresh, like spring and summer, his mouth honeyed and lips candied.

“Yes” God, yes. He’s found him, his heart is still racing like mad in the loudness of the street.

He traces his face slowly with the palm of his hand, is this some sort of tanned colour? Niall told him about tanned colours, maybe it is, does love at first sight exist? Zayn is feeling it all, like being starstruck and engulfed in warmth, is he falling in love? Did he fall in love already?

“Zayn” he remembers, holding his hand out in formal greeting, which is fucking stupid, he just kissed the guy "I'm sorry- I don't know why, I think I just had to" he gets out quickly.

He chances a look at his eyes, two orbs that scream warmth and safety and everything Zayn was searching for, the glint in the lushness in them as he smiles back, white teeth flashing between his fleshy lips. He never thought he could like his eyes as much as his eyebrows, bushy and perfect on his look, the hint of a dark stubble framing his jaw.

The boy kisses him too, his lips soft and hot against his own and his warm hands cupping Zayn’s face, and Zayn feels giddy with it. He tries to contain the feeling rushing in his veins but it's so much, it seems endless.

His mum told him it’d be beautiful, but this is more, it’s like the sky opening and ground breaking under his feet, it’s like a tsunami hitting his body in full force as the guy nips his lips, the sting singing choirs in his ears. His hand crawl on his middle and set there, pulling him even closer, a smile on his lips as he kisses him and the glide of their skin reminding Zayn of honey and oils his mum cooked with. Fuck, he’s feeling like his skin is burning, he’s feeling like he’s melting.

“Hey Li! Come on man!” somebody startles them, the boy tightening his grip on the small of Zayn’s back, another guy holding a beer in his hands waves urgently at him.

“Why is our jersey this bright in colour Andy?” it’s the only thing he says before the guy in shock, drops the bottle of beer to fall and break on the floor with a yelp and a loud curse to which Zayn snickers to.

“Finally, you idiot!” he exults, a grin on his face “Have a goodnight! We’ll talk tomorrow and you! Treat him well!” he screams before cursing at the cold and getting back inside the loudness of the bar

The boy in front of him laughs and Zayn thinks this laugh is like the sun, it’s like the music he listened to. The kind that made him sing and try some awkward moves to it, the kind that made him think and wish for a soulmate.

“Liam, nice to meet you? Mum said you’d be a bit fragile” he teases and Zayn can’t even be bothered as he chuckles because everything is so in place, the way Liam’s arms hold him close and his lips feel against Zayn’s forehead and he shouldn't feel okay with this, because he didn't really want a soulmate, he wanted to see colours, it's just that Liam makes him feel like this is everything he desired.

“I’ll show you fragile” he counters with a light punch on Liam’s arm, the hit absorbed by his strong muscles, didn’t even move an inch and Zayn frowns playfully

“Had to play it like it hurt?” he says surprised and he grabs his forearm putting a pained expression on his face “You hurt me! It hurts” and Zayn can’t even stop himself from smiling, he’s met a hunky goof with kind eyes and wide hands.

“You were at a game distance and I didn’t see you all this time?” Zayn questions incredulous slipping his hands on Liam’s neck as he feels the heat of his skin, some sort of familiarity and commodity in his movements.

“Apparently, Niall told me a friend of his didn’t really like rugby”

“I might as well start liking it now” he admits “And you’re Batman”

“You heard that?” he widens his eyes in distress

“Yeah, laughed like a mad man for ‘couple of minutes”

“Embarrassing” he blushes and Zayn kisses him again, Liam holding him close in the middle of the street and yeah, it’s so right.

It’s never been this right.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t want to make Liam nor blind nor make him die nor any of the complications specified by the prompt, I’d cry and I’d be sad about everything.  
> Just wanted to try a soulmate fic, hope you liked it (at least a little bit, yes?).  
> Thank you very much for reading this.


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